“I’ll be frank,” he replied. “I’ve heard a rumor that there might be a group of colonists that are going to seek to replace you.”
Haruka laughed nervously. “Good. If they want to run the show, let them.”
“I’m being serious here.”
She looked up and saw the slight frown on his face. His hand picked at his hair, and at once she knew that not only was he telling the truth, there was something more serious going on.
“How serious?”
“I don’t know. It might just be forcing an election to be held. But one of the rumors I heard, and I have no idea how reliable the source is, was that they intend to assassinate you.”
Assassinate. Well, I guess I’m important enough to someone to be a threat. If his source is reliable, in any case.
“Nothing solid so far though, right?”
“Right.”
She nodded. As her fingers wove another strand into the door curtain, she thought about the next move. If there was to be a play for power, she could understand the desire. She wanted to make sure the pieces were in place to protect her against a worst case scenario, even though she didn’t believe that anyone left around would actually want to see her dead.
“Alright. Keep your ear to the ground. Make sure Troy does, too. I don’t want either of you to do anything right now other than listen and report to me. Understood?”
“Right. Business as usual,” he nodded.
“Except the whole keeping me up to date bit. Do that a bit more often, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Thank you, James.”
“You’re welcome.” He paused and took a moment to admire her handiwork. “Looks like you’re almost done there. Troy will be happy; he’s just about ready for it.”
Haruka nodded. “Just glad to be doing something again. I’ll make as many of these as he wants.”
Calvin McLaughlin
3 April, Year of Landing, 14:40
Approximately 31 miles west of Michael landing site
The last rays of sunshine faded from Cal’s skin as the sun—dubbed ‘Bravo’—dropped below the jagged gray mountains ahead. His skin cooled, prompting goose bumps to rise on his arms. He opened his eyes from a squint, as the light no longer flooded his vision. Green spots danced in his view and he tried to blink them away, to no avail. After a minute, his eyes adjusted and his sight returned to normal.
Cal looked up at the sparse canopy of blue-needled Demeter pines. The dying orange glow of the sun at the tops of the trees gave them an eerie countenance, like fiery sentinels. Except for the more lush undergrowth and cooler temperature, the place where he stood bore strong resemblance to Caney Creek. He cocked his head, took in the scenery, and closed his eyes. A faint memory of the campground in Texas came to mind.
There were more trees back… He caught himself wanting to think the word “home,” but corrected himself. Back on Earth.
His eyes fluttered open as he heard a splashing noise and a curse. He glanced down at the narrow, rushing stream to find Neil rising from his knees from the shallow water at the bank. One hand clutched a root on the steep bank; the other cradled a plastic sample jar tight against his chest. He slowly slipped his back foot under him and rose as the weight of the jar’s contents threatened to plunge it into the creek.
Cal set his rifle on the ground and knelt down, stretching his hand out toward the geologist. As Neil regained his feet, he passed the jar to Cal, who then gently placed it next to him and helped his friend up the bank. Neil plopped onto the dirt and winced.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah,” he said as he reached for his right ankle. “Son of a bitch, I think I twisted it. I took a bad step and went face first into the creek.”
Cal reached for Neil’s ankle but was waved off. His charge heaved forth great breaths as he rubbed the injured leg. His pants were soaked below the knees, as were his socks and shoes. Though not completely soaked through, Neil’s shirt and coat were wet on the front and sleeves.
“We’re going to need to get you some dry clothes. Can you make it to the crawler?”
“Yeah,” Neil said through a grimace. “Just give me a sec. Hey, can you take that jar back to the crawler for me?”
“Sure thing.”
Cal rose to his feet and collected his rifle, then hoisted the jar of rocks. It was much heavier than he had anticipated, and he nearly dropped it back to the ground. With a second heave, he raised the jar level to his eyes and swiveled his hand, admiring the grainy, multi-hued stones within. They were rather sharp in places, but generally smooth. Cal guessed that they were part of a larger rock that had been broken.
“What are these?” he asked.
“Samples of sandstone,” Neil replied.
“It’s taken you two hours to collect these?”
“Not just those. I’ve already got three smaller jars of other samples I’ve put back in the crawler.”
“Still seems like a lot of time for just a couple samples.”
Neil hobbled to his feet, favoring his right foot. “I needed to make sure I got as wide of a variety as I could get. Less chance of missing something important, right?”
“Right.”
Cal turned away from the stream and began to walk toward the crawler, which was parked on a slight incline a hundred yards from the stream, where the trees thinned out enough that its body could maneuver through the woods. He startled a small flock of birds, sending them into the sky in a meandering flurry of black and grey streaks. Cal then reached the crawler, hopped up on the running board, and placed the sample jar on the edge of the bed. He then swung over, found the compartment that was set aside for Neil’s work, and secured the small round jar in place with a dozen others like it. His task completed, he climbed over the side and lowered himself onto the right side tracks, and then to the ground.
Neil finally caught up, limping slightly. He didn’t seem to be too injured, though his wet clothing gave him a certain bedraggled air. Cal opened the rear passenger door and swept his arm upward.
“Welcome home, Doctor Leclair,” he grinned.
“I’m not a doctor,” Neil groaned. “Stop calling me that.”
“Sorry. Just having a little fun.”
Neil shook his head and returned a weak smile. He then looked around the cab of the crawler. “Hey, where are the girls?”
“Probably picking flowers again. I’ll go get them. Lock yourself in there tight, okay?”
“That’s fine. I’m done for the night anyway. Want me to warm up dinner?”
“Give me five minutes before you start.”
“Alright,” Neil replied.
Cal closed the cab door after Neil’s legs were clear. He walked a few feet from the crawler and cocked his head, trying to listen to the sounds carried on the wind. Chattering and singing heralded the birds he had surprised a few minutes earlier. The creek babbled as it rushed by, and a monotonous rustle rose and fell in volume as the wind blew through the tops of the pines. Far off, he could hear the two women talking. He had no hope of knowing what they were saying, as he could only barely determine that they were out in the woods somewhere in front of the crawler.
He picked his course through the shadows in the dying light. The women were ahead of him, but still quite distant.
Damn. How far did they go?
Cal bounded forward in hopes of closing the gap before the light failed entirely. A breeze kicked up, and the swaying of the trees was joined by a symphony of rustling leaves and twigs from the brush below. The din swallowed up all other noises, and he had to stop his progress and try to pick up the voices again. After a minute, the winds calmed, and he was able to distinguish his targets again. They had moved closer, but shifted slightly to the right. Cal corrected his heading and moved again.
His heart leaped into his throat as a terrible, deafening roar pierced the night sky, followed by the sounds of breaking branches. A pair of light brown flashes streaked across his vision.
He was barely able to recognize them as a species of elk-like creatures that had been discovered just two days after landing. They were extremely fast, and no colonist had ever gotten within a hundred feet of one. Yet these crossed almost within arm’s reach of Cal. They jumped to the base of a nearby tree and then scattered in different directions. Another roar ripped through the air, and a massive, dark brown shape bounded to the spot where the elk had split up. It stood up on its hind feet, and Cal had to crane his head upward to see the terrible, twisted face that again roared through rows of jagged, dagger-like teeth. At the end of each of its short, thick limbs were paws the size of a dog’s head, punctuated with multiple long, straight claws.
Oh fuck!
As if it were able to hear the word in his head, the beast dropped to all fours and twisted its head around to face Cal. It glared at him with wide, fiery eyes. Saliva dripped from between its fangs as it let out a breath that smelled of death. It lunged at him sideways, slamming its massive shoulder into Cal’s chest. He sailed nearly twenty feet through the air before sliding another ten on his back. The AR-15 clattered to a stop somewhere in the darkness, out of reach. He struggled to draw in a deep breath, trying desperately to regain the wind that had been knocked out of him.
The beast leaped once and covered over half the ground that he had been thrown. Its jaws widened into a sadistic grin, and it howled. Terrible shivers ran down Cal’s spine as the beast’s call shook him to his very core. His hand clawed at the holster on his hip, and he managed to free the pistol. The beast rose on its hind legs again, then slammed its front legs to the ground, shaking it.
Oh shit.
His fingers trembled as he tried to release the safety, but his fingers had gone numb from fear, and he couldn’t feel what he was doing.
A blast echoed through the air, and Cal’s hands shot to his ears. The beast wailed, and thrashed to its right side. He heard two more cracks, and then saw the animal lunge in the opposite direction from him. Then, a second later, a long staccato burst poured forth. The massive brown terror lurched and jerked as the rounds found their home. The fire stopped, there was a loud gurgling noise, and the beast collapsed.
Slowly, and shaking in terror, Cal rose to his feet. His chest ached fiercely and he could barely move his right arm. He disabled the safety on his pistol and chambered a round, then walked toward the beast. As he approached, a flashlight shone in his eyes.
“Holy shit,” Lieutenant Josephson exclaimed. “Was it trying to eat you?”
“Y-yes,” he stammered.
“Are you alright?” he heard Elaine’s voice through the darkness.
“Yeah, I guess.” He paused. “I.. I’ve lost my rifle. It… it hit me, and… and I don’t know where it landed.”
The light lowered to illuminate the head of the animal. Cal cautiously moved around the body and sidled up next to Josephson and her charge, Elaine. He then looked down at the felled beast, keeping the pistol trained on its skull.
Josephson traced the light beam down the length of its body. Its head bore a modest snout, but the powerful jaws were lined with a horrific set of teeth that would put the predatory carnivores on Earth to shame. Its canines were almost four inches long, and had a pronounced curve to them. The shoulders were thick and powerful, as were its short legs. Cal had seen it leap more than its body length despite the stubby limbs. Its paws bore four claws each, about six inches long. As Josephson swept the light from end to end a few times, he realized that the beast was about ten feet in length, and the shape of its skull and its overall shape and muscularity were reminiscent of a giant bear. Its demeanor had certainly been more aggressive than its Terran counterpart.
“That thing was tough,” Josephson remarked. “First few shots barely slowed it down.” She released the magazine from her weapon and looked at it quickly. “All out. Shit. Okay, let’s find Cal’s rifle and get the hell back to the crawler.”
They spent the next three minutes searching near where Cal had landed on his back. The weapon was found on the ground about twelve feet from where he had come to a rest. Cal had no doubt that if Josephson hadn’t come around he would not have been able to find it before the animal killed him.
Oh God. I don’t want to be out here any more. Just let me go home. Let me go back to Lexi.
Darius Owens
4 April, Year of Landing, 10:04
Gabriel landing site
“We apologize for the lack of appropriate accommodations for this meeting, Mr. Owens.” Fred Hausner greeted him with a smile and an extended hand. Wrinkles on the attorney’s forehead accentuated his bespectacled face, and his short, tidy blonde hair had faded to a near platinum shade. The casual dress of such an important man was equally striking, though Darius knew that the man’s professional wardrobe, if it still existed, sat more than four light years away.
Darius reached his hand out and shook that of Mr. Hausner, repeating the greeting with Don Abernathy.
“No need to apologize, sir. We haven’t built your office yet.”
“I think there are more important things that should be built first. That’s neither here nor there, however,” he replied. “Thank you for coming. Would you prefer to sit or stand?”
“I’ve been on my feet a lot the past couple days, so I’d like to sit, if you don’t mind.”
“Please, be my guest. I’d just like to get this done before the loggers finish their lunch break and come stomping through here again.”
Darius lowered his body onto the mighty trunk of a felled tree. Drag marks running down the gentle slope and up another short rise marked the path where the logging crews dragged the tree after it had been cut down. Broken bits of bark, shattered limbs, and three other harvested trees marked the staging area where timber sat and awaited processing a few hundred feet away at the ship. Darius glanced across the river to his left, catching his daily glimpse of the life of the other crew.
Fred Hausner took a seat to his left, straddling the trunk. Colonel Eriksen had been very quick to find a prosecutor to handle the trial of Doctor Kimura, and his selection was a man who, despite his clothing, looked every bit the part. Fred’s lines hardened and his brow furrowed as he flipped open a sketch pad and clicked his pen to the ready position.
To Darius’s right, Don sat down as well. He carried only a Bible with him, but his lack of writing material was offset by his steel-like focus. When Darius had found him in camp and explained the situation, Don had immediately offered his services in defense of Doctor Kimura. Securing representation for his friend was a relief, but hearing of Don Abernathy’s experience affirmed that Rory’s recommendation was the right one. After graduating from Harvard, Don had practiced criminal law for nearly two decades in Boston, serving as an assistant district attorney at first, later moving on to a prestigious private firm.
Don cleared his throat. “In the absence of a court officer, I agree to serve in that stead for the purposes of swearing in and party identification. Mr. Hausner will serve in that stead for recording of the particulars, as well as transcription.”
“I will be taking shorthand notes in place of a full transcript,” Fred added. “As we currently lack the equipment to record a full transcript. Both of us have agreed to these terms ahead of time. Is that alright?”
Darius affirmed with a curt nod. Don stretched out his arm with the Bible face-up on his palm and nodded. Darius placed his hand on the Bible.
“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?” Don asked.
“I do.”
“This is a deposition in the matter of the People versus Doctor Tadashi Kimura. The date is the fourth of April, Year of Landing, Demeter colony.” Don glanced down at a digital watch that he produced from his sweatshirt pocket. “The local time is ten oh eight. The venue for this proceeding is at the lumber staging point just northwest of the sleeper ship Gabriel. Present are prosecuting attorney Fred Hausner, defense attorney Don Abernathy, and the witness, f
ormer United States Air Force Lieutenant Darius Owens. Mr. Owens has been sworn in, and we are ready to proceed. Would you like to go first, counselor?”
Fred finished jotting a note on the pad and nodded. “Thank you. Can you please state in what capacity you served while you were with Project Columbus?”
“I held the rank of First Lieutenant. I was assigned to network and computer maintenance on Gabriel, with a secondary duty as a communications officer.”
“And when were you assigned to the Project?”
“April 2011.”
“Thank you. I understand that you were present at the time Doctor Kimura was placed under arrest, correct?”
“Correct, sir.”
“And do I understand correctly that Doctor Kimura voluntarily surrendered, and gave a confession?”
“You understand correctly, sir.”
“And what did he say in this confession?”
Darius paused for a moment as he examined the prosecutor, who scratched more notes onto the pad of paper. “The confession was recorded on Colonel Eriksen’s orders. You can hear exactly what he said, if you like.”
“I understand that, but I want to hear it in your words,” Fred retorted without skipping a beat.
“Objection,” Don interrupted. “Replaying the recording of the confession will give us the exact words as Doctor Kimura spoke them, rather than hearsay as Mr. Owens interprets what the doctor said.”
“Objection noted. Please, continue Mr. Owens.”
“Huh? Didn’t Mr. Abernathy object?”
“I did,” Don replied. “But unlike in a court, you still have to answer the question.”
“Very well.” Darius paused and took a deep breath as he recalled Doctor Kimura’s speech on the bridge. “He said that he and the other doctors on the research team modified the computer algorithm that selected passengers for the sleeper ships. He said that they found that the original algorithm that they had sent to Congress for approval had been altered, and that they didn’t believe that a colony could survive, given the skill set distribution that happened when the modified program was run. Doctor Kimura pointed out that a very high number of Congressmen and their families ended up on the list. Because of the depletion of critical professions, Doctor Kimura and his colleagues altered percentages of certain other professions, or eliminated them altogether.”
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